


After Dusk

by h3ad_and_h3art



Category: Bellarke - Fandom, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bellarke, Brief Mention of Suicide, Canon Compliant, F/M, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, canonverse, luna's rig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h3ad_and_h3art/pseuds/h3ad_and_h3art
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate scenario where, upon arriving to Luna’s oil rig, Jasper, Octavia, Bellamy, and Clarke are allowed to stay the night, but there are not enough rooms for everyone so Bellamy and Clarke have to share.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After Dusk: Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this a long time ago but my life is so hectic right now and I couldn’t finish it. It was supposed to be just a simple one shot, but got too long so I split it into two parts. I know that the sharing-a-bed thing has been used a million times already, but for me it never gets old and I was feeling inspired so I put my own spin on it - sue me. Hope you enjoy!

Luna wasn’t what Clarke expected her to be.

Peaceful, sure. Accommodating? Reasonably so. But, as it turned out, Luna wasn’t as helpful as she’d been played up to be. Maybe she had changed since the last time Lincoln saw her. Maybe she just needed a little time to warm up to Clarke and her friends, but more likely than that was that Luna just didn’t fit into the mold Clarke created of her in her mind.

Over the past few days, Clarke was dead set on finding Luna, in desperate need of her assistance. Ontari was taking over Polis, ALIE was taking over the world, Sinclair was killed, and all the rest of Clarke’s friends were almost suffocated to death as well. To top it all off, Lincoln’s map first appeared to lead them to a dead end. The idea that when they did find Luna she might refuse to help them had never even crossed her mind.

But here she was.

Clarke sighed and tugged at the hem of her t-shirt. It was too big for her, she knew, but Luna insisted that Clarke find something besides the commander garb she previously sported before wandering around the rig. Her clothes were “symbolic of war” and Luna made it clear that they would not be tolerated by the rest of the boat clan. The boat leader then managed to scrape up some old clothes: a simple black jacket that was surprisingly not too different from the ones the delinquents came down with and an over-sized t-shirt that clearly used to belong to a man. Clarke was allowed to keep her leggings and boots, but her commander jacket was quickly disposed of. It was a small loss, but Clarke felt strange in it anyway. As much as the old commander had tried to mentor her, Clarke just wasn’t Lexa. She was Clarke of the Sky People - not Wanheda, not some icon. Back in Polis, Clarke was revered. It was easy there, hiding from what she truly was. But now that Clarke was reunited with her people once more, she saw herself for what she was: a coward, running from her demons, and a monster to boot.

Derrick, one of Luna’s apparent guards (although it did seem that there was more going on, from what Clarke observed), led the guests to their quarters – two doors at the end of a long corridor. The end of the hall displayed a large fishing net and some sort of emblem that looked to be the floukru clan’s symbol. On one wall, there was a door to one room and directly across from it was the door to the other.

Derrick paused when they reached the end. “We have only two rooms available for your use. You are welcome to use them for tonight, but tomorrow we expect you to depart before sunset unless you are willing to give up a life of war and live with us in peace and solitude.”

The offer was tempting, but Clarke knew the peace would never last – not unless ALIE was stopped.

“We can’t do that,” Bellamy stated for her and, for once, Clarke was glad she wasn’t the one making the decision, despite it being decidedly non-negotiable.

Derrick nodded, like he did not expect any less. “In that case, I hope you have a pleasant sleep, and an even pleasanter journey to the shore on the ‘morrow.”

When he was gone, the group looked at each other briefly but no more words were said on the matter. Octavia looked at Derrick’s departing figure and glanced briefly at Bellamy before spinning around and storming into one of the rooms. It was impossible to read the look she had sent in Bellamy’s direction, but Clarke knew it couldn’t be good and it would only be worse for Bellamy. Octavia was acting out – she was a teenager and Clarke knew that she often responded to problems aggressively – but Clarke also knew that that didn’t change anything for Bellamy and she hated to see him hurting in this way.

Jasper brushed a hand over his face and turned around to chase after her. “Octavia—”

When those two were gone, Clarke was acutely aware of Bellamy’s presence beside her. While the silence was grim before, now it was awkward and out of place. But instead of trying to alleviate the tension in the air, she bit her lip and strode towards the remaining bedroom. When she reached the doorway, Clarke noticed that there were no footsteps following behind her and she stopped, placing one hand on the wall.

Clarke tilted her head and looked at Bellamy. “You coming?”

Upon being spoken to, he glanced up at her. His eyes travelled before landing on something behind her shoulder, inside the room, and then flicked quickly back to Clarke, but his expression remained frustratingly unreadable. After a moment of not saying anything, he sighed and followed her into the room.

 

Their quarters were modest, with only a bed on one wall and a small wooden desk beside it. There was a metal stool in the corner, and on the desk there was a candle. The candle wouldn’t serve much use without a source of fire, though, and Bellamy didn’t know what he did with his matches. A chilly sea breeze wafted in from a round window near the top of the wall and everything smelled like the ocean –salty, but fresh. Despite the room being freezing and eerily resembling the storage crate they were shipped on to get here, what with its metal walls, the bed was a decent size and was topped with multiple blankets to keep warm. There was but one glaring problem.

The bed.

As in singular.

Clarke didn’t seem to notice – or maybe she just didn’t care – because she immediately sat herself down on the foot of the bed and started untying the laces on her boots. She was clearly getting ready to curl up under those blankets and pass out… .

Which meant Bellamy was taking the floor.

Bellamy didn’t mind. It wasn’t like he bothered to get much sleep lately anyway. While reality haunted him sufficiently, the nightmares waiting for him when the moon rose were equally as terrifying and he preferred to avoid them altogether. On the rare occasion he did manage to get a wink of sleep, his demons always managed to chase him awake in a cold sweat eventually. No, the idea of sleeping in that bed wasn’t appealing whatsoever. Clarke, on the other hand, needed to rest. Just looking at her was almost painful. Stress was deeply ingrained in her eyes and it was obvious from the drooping of her eyelids that exhaustion was just about to send her over the edge. Tonight might be the best opportunity she would have for a good night’s sleep in a while and he wasn’t going to ruin that for her.

Bellamy would take the floor.

When he started kicking his boots to the side and taking off his jacket to arrange it on the floor, not unlike a pillow, he was abruptly cut off by Clarke. “What are you doing?”

He paused to stare back at her. Her jacket was gone and she just had on that t-shirt that was clearly too big for her overtop her leggings. Her eyes asked him a million questions. “Getting ready to sleep.” A lie, but she didn’t need to know that.

“On the ground?”

Something in her eyes made him shift uncomfortably and suddenly his mouth became dry. “Yeah.”

Bellamy turned back to his task of making a semi-comfortable place for him to lean against the wall, and Clarke, to his relief, didn’t say anything else. In the silence, he continued on with indifference and was barely aware of the lack of sound from the other person in the room. A few minutes later there was a short sigh and a bounce of the springs on the bed that Bellamy chose to ignore. It wasn’t always this awkward with Clarke – at least, it hadn’t used to be. But something had changed between them, and Bellamy was too scattered to try and figure out what it was.

A tug on his bicep finally caused Bellamy to acknowledge Clarke again and he turned around. She was staring up at him, one small hand wrapped around his upper-arm and an exasperated expression on her face. She pulled him back towards the bed and pushed him down so he was sitting on the edge. Once she was apparently satisfied, she climbed up beside him and crawled over to the other end of the bed.

“I’m not letting you sleep on the floor, Bellamy,” she told him from her perch. “There’s plenty of room for two.”

“I don’t mind, Clarke,” he reassured her. “We sleep on the ground all the time. This isn’t new.”

“And look at the good it’s done you,” she said softly.

Bellamy knew he probably looked like hell. While it had been days since he’d had access to a mirror, Bellamy was well aware of the cuts and bruises on his face and the dirt that covered them. If the bags under Clarke’s eyes were any indication, he probably appeared much the same. Exhaustion was always on the horizon, but Bellamy still couldn’t bring himself to sleep, not here, not when people could watch. The last thing he needed were for his shrieks to awaken her in the night.

“I’m fine,” Bellamy told her again, wishing he could sound more convincing. “One of us should take the floor.”

Clarke sighed and started shifting on the bed. “Fine,” she said, and Bellamy could hear the irritation in her voice. “If it’s such a problem for us to be in such close proximity, then I’ll sleep on the ground.”

Bellamy groaned and stopped her with his arm before she could leave. “Clarke, wait.” She turned to face him, her eyes revealing nothing. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Her eyes softened under his touch and smiled sadly. “I know you’re just trying to be give me space, Bellamy, but I’m too tired to argue with you about this.”

With that, she turned away from him and laid herself down under the blankets on her side of the bed, facing the wall. The light streaming in from the window was thinning as night overtook the sky. Bellamy set his jaw before pushing his stubbornness aside and leaning back against the pillow. He was careful not to touch Clarke, leaving a good one to two feet of space between them, but she, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care as much about the space. Bellamy turned to glance at her curled up on her side. He could see her chest rising and falling and hear her even breathes. She was already asleep.

The idea that she was finally getting the first rest she had probably had in days was enough to make him smile slightly and he finally turned away to prop his head on his pillow and stare at the ceiling.

 

Bellamy wasn’t sure how many hours had passed when Clarke started to stir. At first she just made little wriggling movements, as people often did in their sleep, and eventually rolled onto her back. Bellamy didn’t think much of it, but then the murmuring started. Her words were indistinguishable but the sounds became more and more distressed after a few seconds. Clarke’s face was all scrunched up in what looked like pain, her eyelids fluttering, and suddenly the quiet sounds emerging from her lips turned to whimpering. Bellamy was about to reach over to wake her up when her eyes snapped open suddenly and she jerked forward, panting.

Clarke didn’t acknowledge that he had noticed her, instead stared blankly ahead into the darkness. Bellamy could see that she was trembling and her bottom lip was quivering. When he looked closer, he noticed a few tears rolling slowly down her cheeks and the sight sent a pang through his chest.

“Clarke?” he spoke softly, quietly, unsure of how to help her. Her eyes barely flicked over to his before moving quickly away.

And then Clarke crumpled.

The sound she let out ripped Bellamy’s heart straight out of his chest. It was a sound of such grief and heartbreak that he had never once heard emerge from her mouth before. Clarke erupted into choking sobs that filled his ears and curled in on herself, wrapping her arms around her stomach, like it was the only thing keeping her from shattering completely. Her chest hitched with each shaky breath and Bellamy worried that she wasn’t allowing herself enough air. Turning her face into her knees, Clarke hid her tears and Bellamy wondered, briefly, if she was trying to hide her sorrow from him.

Inching closer, Bellamy reached out and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against his chest. Clarke immediately broke in his arms, letting out hysterical sobbing sounds. He could feel the shuddering of her body with each wail she let out. The weeping grew louder and more frantic and Bellamy cradled her head in one hand, trying to help steady her. She buried her face into his chest, muffling the sound of her bawling in the fabric of his t-shirt.

Bellamy was too caught off-guard by her sudden vulnerability in front of him to know what words to say so instead of verbally comforting her, he tightened his grip around her and caressed the hair at the nape of her neck. He could feel Clarke’s tears soaking into his shirt, but it didn’t bother him – only sent a sharp prick of sadness through him. Her breaths were heaving and her form was still crumpled up in a ball against him, one hand curled on his chest. Still stroking her hair, Bellamy shifted so that his back was against the headboard of the bed and Clarke was leaning against him.

Clarke, so defenseless and exposed like this, reminded Bellamy of a younger version of Octavia – when she used to get nightmares back on the Ark. Back then, Bellamy was always the one to calm her down. However she tried, his mother just could never figure out how. Bellamy always put his arm around her as Octavia would lay her head on his shoulder and he would tell her stories, the ones about Greek myths and heroes and the legends they became, conquering villains with the same arrogance and bravado. Bellamy didn’t know whether Octavia understood the stories or not, or if she even listened to him at all, but they served as a distraction from the terrors that tormented her in her sleep.

But here Bellamy was and he was holding a real legend in his arms. The great myth of Wanheda: mountain slayer. And she was nothing like the cocky and fearless heroes he whispered to Octavia about all those nights before. He was realizing, in the real world, courage and physical strength didn’t make a hero; not even saving all your people made you noble – not if you did whatever it took, however heavy a price to pay. Real people broke down, like old machinery, but they could become whole again. Without grief and emotion, there would be no humanity.

Clarke had told Bellamy that maybe there were “no good guys”. At the time, he thought she was just trying to provide the comfort he needed to move forward with her on the mission. Whenever Bellamy looked at himself next to Clarke, he never felt like he could put himself on her level. From the moment they landed on the ground, Clarke’s intentions were inherently good, and everything she had done since that moment were in the name of their people: to protect them. But staring at her now, so riddled with guilt and trauma, Bellamy didn’t see that girl. She hadn’t been trying to manipulate him into following her before – her words were true. There were no good guys. The heroes that left Bellamy in awe when he was young weren’t real or realistic and the legend of the great and powerful mountain slayer wasn’t either.

She was not Wanheda, not a princess: just a girl. Just Clarke.

And the more Bellamy considered it, the more it made sense. Why she ran away. Why she stayed in Polis. There, she was treated as a myth, a misconception Clarke must have known was inaccurate. But the more she was revered, the easier it was to lose herself in the story of Wanheda, to convince herself that Clarke Griffin of the Sky People never lived. In Polis, Clarke hid from who she was. It was her distraction, just like the Greek stories were Octavia’s.

But Clarke was done with the distractions, as it appeared, and as a result she lay crumpled in his arms, the waterfall flowing from her eyes providing any remaining explanation he needed for the reasons she left him behind.

All Bellamy could do was hold her.

There was nothing more to it. He knew she needed to let it out, that she just needed for him to allow her to break for once. But he’d be damned if he let her do it alone. Fastening his arms even more securely around her, he leaned his head down so his lips were almost brushing her ear. For a moment, he hesitated. He didn’t know what to tell her. He could lie, say that everything would be okay, that they would fix everything. But he couldn’t do that. He could only promise one thing.

“You don’t have to go through this by yourself.” I know how you feel. “I’m here. I want to help you.” Let me help you.

His words issued an even more violent round of crying. Bellamy could feel Clarke struggling against his arms, trying to release herself from his grip. At first he was confused, but then he heard her take two heaving breaths and realized that she was trying to speak.

“I can’t,” she choked out between sobs, shaking her head, tears streaming down her scrunched up face. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Bellamy pulled away from her so he could look in her eyes, a sick feeling starting to churn in his stomach. “What are you talking about?”

“Every night, I get these nightmares,” she gasped, “and they’re always the same.” Her eyes took on a haunted look and it didn’t feel like Bellamy was staring at Clarke anymore. She was somewhere else, and he realized she was reliving it all. “I’m walking in the forest and then I – I start to hear things. Voices. Telling me that I’m a monster. That I killed them.” She gulped, her eyes filling with moisture. “When I turn around, they’re all staring at me. The people at Mount Weather, in Tondc … everyone I killed. And it doesn’t matter how fast I run, they’re always there. Just a few feet behind, calling out to me. And it never ends.”

Bellamy felt something break inside of him as he listened to her, watched her bottom lip tremble. But Clarke wasn’t finished.

“The dream never ends,” she began again, her voice cracking, “because when I wake up, for a moment I feel relief that it’s all over, but then I remember that it’s not a dream. It’s all real. And the people following me are telling the truth. This is who I am.”

“Clarke …” Bellamy began, but he found he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Her dreams sounded eerily similar to his own, where the spectres of those who died at his hands haunted him. Except sometimes, it wasn’t just them. Sometimes he saw Octavia’s face in the dead bodies of the Mountain Men. Sometimes it was someone else. Other times his dreams were a different kind of torment, the kind with a kiss placed tentatively on his cheek, only to be followed by the face of the girl who gifted it painted on the remains of a body bleeding red into the night sky. The dreams all shared one thing in common: the deaths were always his fault.

The words of comfort fell flat on his tongue and Bellamy’s arms slackened their grip on Clarke as it all came flooding back to him. The reason he wouldn’t sleep: Clarke embodied it. He was just like her, and as Bellamy had no words of sympathy to offer himself, he had no idea what to do to reassure the girl in front of him.

“There’s only one way to make it end.”

Clarke’s words took a moment to settle in, but the implication was a shard of glass in Bellamy’s heart.

“No,” he breathed. “Clarke, no.”

She stared at him sadly. “It will be easy that way.”

A rush of heat filled Bellamy’s chest. “For who?” he asked with indignation. “You?”

She didn’t have an answer for that.

Softening, he reached out to cup her face in his hands, gently turning her to look him in the eye. “I don’t know what happened with you in Polis, okay? I don’t know what you did those three months in the wilderness. But you managed to get through that and you’re here now.” He paused, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. “I don’t know what I would do without you. I need you, Clarke. And it doesn’t matter what you did or what you will do because I care about you and nothing’s going to ever make that untrue.”

When Bellamy saw the look on Clarke’s face – half surprise, have awe – he realized that he had never told her that before. He needed her. Of course he did. But it was only in this moment that he found the words felt new in his mouth. He’d never said them before. They felt strange, dangerous, but they also felt right and Bellamy froze with the dawning realization that Clarke truly didn’t know how much she meant to him, that he cared about her.

All this time, and he never told her. Not once. Bellamy swallowed.

This time when he made eye contact, he didn’t look away as he usually did. The azure blue of Clarke’s eyes were wide and brimming with tears, making her irises look like rivers. Her lips were parted slightly, but the choking sobs had come to a halt and now just a few streams trickled down her cheek as she stared into his eyes, like she was testing him to see if he really meant everything he said.

“Please,” he breathed, so barely a sound escaped his lips.

There was a beat – an interruption in the fabric of time where everything seemed to still around him – and in that moment Bellamy swore he felt his heart stop. Would his words reach her? If they did, would they be enough? Bellamy didn’t know; he did know that no matter what he did in the past, he’d never been enough before. He couldn’t save his mom, he couldn’t protect the kids on the ground … Over half were dead, because of his failures. The people in the Culling? Gone. His fault. The Mountain Men and the Grounders outside the walls of Arkadia would never breathe again and their blood was still fresh on his hands. Bellamy, despite his efforts, failed to save Lincoln or Gina… . Hell, Bellamy couldn’t even save himself. And now he might as well add Octavia to the long list of people that Bellamy had let down.

Why would anything he said matter to Clarke? What would his pleas mean to her?

The pit of dread in his stomach expanded to the point that Bellamy was completely thrown when he felt a tickling of hair on his chin and delicate arms wrapped around his waist. Clarke had tucked her head under his chin and had him pulled against her, her arms gentle, but also desperate. After a brief pause and the inevitable wave of relief that washed over him, Bellamy responded, returning her embrace. Clarke now carried a new sense of calm with her – or at least, it seemed that way. Her shrieks had departed and in their wake remained only silence, but Bellamy could still feel the tears streaking from Clarke’s eyes against his skin, burning holes that went straight through his heart.

With a sudden urge overcoming Bellamy, he shifted his head to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. When his skin made contact with hers, he heard Clarke sniffle against his neck and he started slowly rocking her back and forth, remembering that it used to soothe Octavia when she would wake up from nightmares when she was younger. He held her in his arms as she cried, until she stopped trembling and the tears stopped flowing from her eyes. And even after her breathing became steady again, he continued to hold her because Bellamy had let Clarke go before and he didn’t want to do it ever again.

Eventually, after a long period of silence, Bellamy felt Clarke grow relaxed in his arms and she yawned before nuzzling her face back into the crook of his neck. He leaned down so his lips were hovering by her ear and spoke for the first time in what felt like hours. “Are you tired?”

Clarke sighed in response, which Bellamy took to mean “yes”. Getting the message, he gently repositioned himself and Clarke so they were lying down on the bed, facing each other. For a moment, Bellamy wasn’t sure if Clarke would move away but if she needed it, he would grant her some space. Instead, however, she just buried her head in his chest and leaned against him. Bellamy kept his arm wrapped around her waist and waited until her breaths became even and it was obvious that she had elapsed into a much needed sleep.

Bellamy could have disentangled his arms from her, could have moved away back to his side of the bed, and she wouldn’t have noticed – but he didn’t. Because Bellamy imagined Clarke’s eyes opening in a panic, a nightmare chasing her out of sleep, only to find herself alone. He could envision it so clearly, because it was his reality for three months. All those long nights Bellamy would wake up, trembling in the dark and calling out, only to realise that the person he was calling out for would never hear. She was gone, another person to add to the list of people who left him behind.

When it came down to the two of them, Bellamy knew he would always be the one to stay.


	2. After Dusk: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate scenario where, upon arriving to Luna’s oil rig, Jasper, Octavia, Bellamy, and Clarke are allowed to stay the night, but there are not enough rooms for everyone so Bellamy and Clarke have to share.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s part two of two! This is the good stuff. ;) I’m intending to write more one shots (and hopefully a longer fic too) in the near future so stay tuned if you like this kind of stuff. I’ve already explained that I’m a hoe for the sharing-a-bed stuff so it’s possible that will make a re-appearance, lol. Let me know what kinds of things you like (and don’t like) to see in fics because I can try to think of more situations that will appeal to a broader spectrum of the Bellarke fam.

When Clarke awakened, it was still night. Blinking her eyes groggily, she lifted her head up, pausing for a moment to absorb the fact it had been resting on someone’s chest.

 _Bellamy_ ’s chest.

From the steady rise and fall of his chest and his closed eyes, Clarke could tell he was asleep. She smiled slightly to herself. It was about time. Clarke wasn’t an idiot and she wasn’t blind. She noticed that he hadn’t been sleeping in the past few days, always promising to wake her up after his watch at night and then saying that “he forgot” or “woke up Jasper” in the morning when she pointed out that he never did. Sometimes he tried other tactics, like pretending to be asleep when it was obvious from the tense set of his muscles and uneven breathing that he wasn’t.

This time, however, Bellamy wasn’t pretending. It felt like a victory. The man always looked exhausted, physically and emotionally. Clarke had no idea how he managed to remain on two feet without sleeping in days. It was just a matter of time before it all became too much for him.

Clarke propped herself up with her elbows and rested her chin on her hands, splayed across Bellamy’s chest. At some point, probably when he fell asleep, Bellamy had fallen onto his back and brought Clarke with him, so that her torso was practically on top of his. His arm was still slung lazily around her, no longer possessing the same strength it had just a few hours previous. She was hyperaware of the way their legs were entangled and the close proximity they were in, never having been quite this close before. At the thought, all the memories of everything that happened between them came rushing back. Clarke caught her breath.

_I need you._

_I care about you._

_Nothing’s going to ever make that untrue._

It didn’t seem real – his admissions. While Clarke always knew that Bellamy cared about her well-being, as friends and as partners, he had never actually vocalized it aloud, and certainly not like this. She never imagined that anyone would ever plead with her – _plead_ – not to take her own life with such desperation before. But Bellamy did.

And one thing that struck her was that he hadn’t once tried to shush her or tell her to be quiet so that she wouldn’t wake up Luna’s clan. He didn’t attempt to convince her that everything was okay, because it so obviously wasn’t; he just let her release her emotions and it was the best thing he could have done, along with just being there to hold her, under the circumstances. To this day, Bellamy was the one person she could depend on to never lie to her, even when he thought it would make her feel better. Despite his noble intentions, that was one thing Wells never understood. It was always better to know the truth, even if it hurt. In a world like the one that Clarke now lived in, there was no room for sugar-coating. Harsh was their reality and she would never be able to move on from her pain if she didn’t face it.

Clarke was hit with the memory of Bellamy’s strong arms wrapped around her and the gentle movements of his fingers as he caressed her hair. The image sent warmth all throughout her body. If she imagined it, Clarke could still feel the light touch of his lips against her temple. And Bellamy would never know the true extent of how much everything he did meant to her. He would never be able to fully understand that she was lost, and he helped her find her way back home. It wasn’t a place, as she used to think. No, as it turned out, the concept of “home” was much more complicated than that.

While Clarke didn’t know if she would ever find the literal, physical sense of a home again; she did know that she had never felt safer than she did when Bellamy had his arms fastened tightly around her. She’d let herself be vulnerable in front of him in a way that she never had with anyone, and now, as he lay asleep before her, she thought that maybe he was doing that as well.

Clarke had seen Bellamy cry, had seen him take his guard down in front of her temporarily, if only for a few seconds, but no one would ever be as exposed with their eyes open as they were when their eyes were closed, oblivious to any threat or pair of unwelcome eyes that may be facing them.

His dark eyelashes were splayed across his cheeks, eyelids fluttering slightly, indicating to Clarke that he was dreaming. She’d never seen him so at peace, all the muscles in his face relaxed, lips slightly parted. Moonlight shone through the window, illuminating his face just enough to make out his features. In daylight, Clarke tried not to stare, but now, when he didn’t know she was looking, it was hard not to take him in.

The freckles on his cheeks were like constellations, a distinct feature that immediately set him apart from the others who came to the ground with the original hundred. Clarke didn’t know many people up in space who had them, because of their lack of exposure to the sun, but Bellamy possessed an abundance of them before they even opened the dropship door – purely genetics. It was one of the first things that she noticed when she met him, along with the fact that he had a sister, before he ignored her protests to not open the dropship door and proved himself to be a total jackass.

Of course, he wasn’t really – first impressions were often wrong. Clarke just wished she’d realized all his layers before making assumptions about him. It was painfully obvious to her now that, however much of a douchebag Bellamy wanted people to think he was at first, no real asshole would have held her so tenderly in their arms as he.

Overcome with a sudden urge, Clarke reached her hand out to lightly trace the skin on his cheek, imagining her fingertips connecting dots between his freckles so they really were like the images she could see in the stars. It was such a childish thing to do, but with him just lying there, his head slightly tilted and his hair ruffled endearingly, she couldn’t help herself.

Something stopped Clarke, however, because she noticed a change in Bellamy’s facial expression. Pulling her hand away, afraid she was disturbing his sleep, she tried to place what was wrong. A small crease formed between his eyebrows and he shifted in his sleep just slightly, small movements that wouldn’t seem out of place if Clarke hadn’t just witnessed the serene nature of his sleep moments before.

Suddenly, he jerked forward, Bellamy’s forehead nearly ramming Clarke in the face if she hadn’t slowed him down by placing her hands on his chest. His eyes were wild, wide with alarm, and for a moment it was like he was alone, unaware of the girl staring at him. But then his eyes met hers briefly before skittering away and Clarke felt him tense up. Without breathing a word, he nudged her hands away and started moving towards the edge of the bed, putting distance between them. With his back to her, Clarke could just see the way he put his head in his hands, his breaths ragged. Even now, he was trying to push her away.

You’d think he would have figured out by now that it never worked.

Inching closer, she tenderly reached a hand out to touch his shoulder. He didn’t move away this time, but Clarke could tell he felt uncomfortable under her gaze. She understood the feeling. Over the past months, she’d been alone with her nightmares, never having to worry about being vulnerable in front of anyone. She imagined it was much the same for Bellamy . . . except for now. Something told her he hadn’t been planning on falling asleep.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Bellamy.”

Clarke didn’t know what she expected from him. A confession? Him to erupt into a puddle of tears? Maybe it was just a glance, a word, some sort of acknowledgement that she was there.

What she got was him lifting his head to look at her – really look at her. His eyes did not dance away when he made eye contact with her. No, they were completely open. It was like she could see right into his soul, if she wanted to. His expression was hard for her to distinguish, but she knew that something was different. The energy between them was different, full of unknown possibilities.

And then Bellamy Blake did the unexpected.

He reached out a hand, tenderly caressing her cheek with the backs of his knuckles, sending shivers down her spine. Then he reached out with both hands to cup her cheeks before running them over her neck, her arms, and finally grasping her hands in his. His touch was tender and soft – almost as if he wasn’t really touching her at all, but Clarke could tell from her quickened pulse that he was. Bellamy stared at her for a moment, absolutely still, but then he breathed a sigh of something akin to relief and Clarke watched as all the muscles in his body relaxed. Leaning his head closer, Bellamy rested his forehead against her own. Clarke closed her eyes, barely breathing. She didn’t know what this was, if it was anything. All she knew was that she didn’t want it to end.

But she also knew it wasn’t so simple.

“Bellamy,” she breathed, and he hummed slightly in return. “Are the nightmares why you never sleep?”

Clarke heard the sharp intake of breath, felt him grow rigid as he pulled away from her. She hadn’t wanted to bring it up, ruin the serenity, but Clarke knew that he was trying to avoid the demons he faced at night and he wouldn’t stop running away from them without a catalyst.

When he didn’t answer, Clarke softened her voice. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“It shouldn’t matter.”

“It _does_ matter, though,” Clarke insisted, letting her voice rise in volume, before stopping herself – regrouped – and continued softer. “You know, you looked _so_ calm.”

This caused Bellamy to look at her, curiously, as she went on. “I don’t remember the last time I saw you so stress-free. Don’t you remember what you were dreaming of before the nightmare?”

“The dreams don’t always start off bad,” was his response, “but something always happens, someone does something, and it changes.” He turned to face her again, looking at her strangely. Clarke wished she could decipher the look, discover what it meant. “Kind of like reality.”

His words hit her slightly, but she had to keep pushing. “If you keep living in fear of what might happen in your sleep, they’ll never get better.”

“So you’re saying that your nightmares aren’t as bad as they used to be?” The disbelief was obvious in his voice. He’d watched her cry, held her shaking in his arms. Bellamy was right – it didn’t look like things had gotten better for her at all.

“I’m saying that they’re not as bad with you here – when I don’t have to face them alone,” she said, reaching her hands out to intertwine his fingers with her own. “You don’t have to do this on your own.”

After a quick glance at their hands, Bellamy lifted his head to see her – his eyes wide and vulnerable. Clarke inhaled when she saw that they were brimming with tears. His voice cracked when he said, “I don’t even know what that means.”

A tear opened itself inside Clarke’s heart at Bellamy’s words. Suddenly, she understood. She understood the walls Bellamy put up, the way he pushed her away. She remembered the tears Bellamy had let fall in front of her, the sad confessions he’d made to her. And now she understood the anger and resentment he used to harbor for her while Clarke was gone. Because Bellamy didn’t trust many people enough to be vulnerable in front of them, but he trusted Clarke.

And Clarke left.

Instinctively, Clarke squeezed his hand. “When I left, I assumed that you would be all right. I didn’t think you would care – and if you did, you would get over it. I didn’t think you needed me,” Clarke began, carefully. “But now I wish I hadn’t thought that.”

Something new appeared in Bellamy’s eyes - something that could have been hope, or maybe just interest – but Clarke could tell he was absorbing her words.

“I was wrong,” she continued. “About leaving. It didn’t help.” Clarke took a long shaky breath. “ _Clearly_ , it didn’t. I thought it would … but I still wake up every night in panic, trying to remember how to breathe.”

“This is your strategy of convincing me that I should ‘confront my demons’?” Bellamy cut in, drily, and Clarke smiled humourlessly.

“The _point_ is, I made a mistake in leaving you. Running away from my pain never helped, but you did – _do_.” Clarke could hardly believe the confessions leaving her mouth, but they were real, and she knew she would always regret it if they never met Bellamy’s ears. “I’m not going to leave you again, because I meant what I said before. We _need_ each other – you and me. It’s the only way we’ll ever get through this, not alone: together. _Please_ let me help you.”

Silence.

Clarke received nothing, not a single word, and she felt a feeling of dread in her stomach when she entertained the thought that what she said didn’t work. He still didn’t understand.

“You really don’t get it,” she exhaled softly, hopeless.

“What do you mean?”

“You have _no_ idea what you did for me.” Clarke just shook her head slightly. “Bellamy, before . . . earlier tonight, I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t here, okay? I – I was so close to …” She didn’t finish her sentence. So close to _what_? He knew. She knew. It was a narrowly avoided grim outcome.

Her implication finally issued a reaction from Bellamy. The muscle in his jaw twitched and she saw him gulp. She wasn’t sure when, or who initiated it, but Clarke and Bellamy had moved closer, as if drawn by a magnet neither of them could see. He gripped her hand firmly now, and didn’t move his gaze away when her eyes flicked up to his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Clarke was left with utter bafflement. “Why?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, that I didn’t try to understand. All those horrible things I said to you before, when you came to Arkadia … I wish I hadn’t.”

“But they were true,” she said quietly.

“They weren’t,” he quickly reassured her. “At least, not that people die when you’re in charge. They don’t. You kept us alive – still do – and you should know that. I’m so sorry –”

“Bellamy, stop apologizing. What you did tonight is the reason I’m still here. You saved me.” Clarke’s voice cracked. “Now let me save you.”

For a moment, Clarke really thought she’d gotten through to him. But with Bellamy’s next words, she realized her mistake.

“I get it,” he said, his voice full of hurt. “You need to make us even.”

Clarke’s hand dropped in her lap as he released it, the emptiness of her palm reflecting the hollow feeling in her heart. A lump formed in her throat, but she forced herself to swallow it. Now was not the time to get choked up – she’d done enough of that already. Instead, a swell of frustration filled her.

“Goddamnit Bellamy – what is it going to take for me to get through to you that this is about more than manipulating you?” She didn’t stop. This misunderstanding had gone on too long. “I don’t just need you because you’re my partner and we have to finish this mission. I need you because I have no idea what the bloody hell I’m doing and having you here with me is the only thing keeping me sane.” She paused just for a moment to gather herself after her outburst. “Earlier, I followed you out onto that beach for a reason, and it had nothing to do with the flame or ALIE or anything. Why is it so difficult for you to believe that someone cares about you?”

Bellamy blinked at her, his lips slightly parted. She’d left him speechless – Clarke could tell. After everything, the fact that he still believed he was unloved left a pang in Clarke’s chest and she couldn’t help but feel at least partially responsible. Impulsively, she leaned forward, resting her hands on his chest, and whispered in his ear, voice heavy, “You mean so much to me, Bellamy.”

To illustrate her point, she planted a soft kiss on his cheek. Her lips lingered on his skin and she could feel the rapid beating of Bellamy’s heart through his t-shirt. Clarke’s mouth hovered over his cheek for a moment, but Clarke couldn’t bring herself to move away. Gulping, she shifted her head so that her face was directly in line with his, her lips lightly brushing his skin as she did so. Their mouths were less than an inch away, but neither tried to put more distance between them.

Hesitating briefly, Clarke bunched the fabric of his t-shirt slightly in her hands before leaning forward, pressing her lips delicately against his own. On contact, an overwhelming flood of emotions rushed through her, causing Clarke to apply even more pressure between them, pulling Bellamy towards her with the force of her grip on his shirt.

It was only when she came up to breathe that Clarke realized Bellamy hadn’t responded to her kiss.

Immediately, she dropped her hands from him and backed away. Averting her eyes, she felt her cheeks flare. Of course Clarke had to ruin it, right when she was making progress with Bellamy. Now, he would think she was just using him again. With her current embarrassment and shame over how she had reacted, Clarke didn’t know if she would be able to convince him just how wrong he was.

When Clarke felt the fingers on her chin, nudging her face upwards, she wanted to curl up in a hole. Resisting, she turned her head even further away from Bellamy. Their friendship would be ruined – Clarke took it too far – and now she couldn’t even face him.

“Clarke,” he said, his voice low. It was impossible to figure out what he was thinking by the tone of it.

When she didn’t respond, he cupped her cheek with his hand and gingerly turned her face to look at him. This time, she didn’t resist. Maybe it was the gentleness of his touch, like he was afraid that even the slightest movement might hurt her. Whatever it was, Clarke used the last of her dignity to tilt her face up and stare him in the eye.

She didn’t see what she expected to see.

Bellamy didn’t look hurt or angry, and he wasn’t looking at her like she was a child whose naivety led her to do something wrong. His features were soft, kind, and there was something in his eyes Clarke had never seen before. His gaze was unflinching and Clarke felt strangely exposed, like her heart had been pulled from her chest and attached to her forehead. The deep brown of Bellamy’s eyes caused a feeling of sudden warmth to spread through her. He didn’t have cold eyes – they were comforting eyes. The kind of eyes you could look into and immediately trust. The kind of eyes that only belonged to the type of person who would do anything to save someone else, but never seemed to leave enough energy to save himself.

The ache in Clarke’s chest screamed louder. She wondered, could Bellamy tell? Could he see that she was being eaten alive slowly? Did he know that the only reason she hadn’t already, was because of him?

Still cupping her cheek, Bellamy lightly traced his thumb over her bottom lip. Clarke felt her breath as it was stolen from her, shivers running up and down her spine. Her arms were trembling, but she didn’t know what it was. Fear? But not of Bellamy.

After all, it hadn’t been fear of Bellamy that caused her to push him away. No, it was always about something else, something she was told made her weak.

Bellamy stopped the movement of his thumb and shifted his hand so it was lower on her jaw. Clarke could feel his breath light against her skin and she became acutely aware of how close their faces were. But she didn’t move, because in that moment, Clarke was paralyzed. Time slowed as the seconds ticked by. Clarke didn’t know what she was waiting for.

But then she felt it.

His lips captured hers in a firm but gentle kiss. Their mouths were locked together for one long moment, soft but full of intensity. A wave of emotions washed over Clarke as her mind raced a thousand miles per second. All the doubts she had, the embarrassment, vanished when she felt the smoothness of Bellamy’s lips against her own. She couldn’t put a name to what she was feeling; it was unlike anything she’d felt before – not with Finn, not with Niylah, not with Lexa. This was something deeper. It felt real, it felt like an inevitability she somehow never saw coming.

It felt right.

Their lips broke apart for air, but didn’t stray far away. Clarke let out a short sigh and Bellamy slid a hand into her hair. Nudging her nose affectionately, he brushed his lips over her own in a teasing gesture. Longing for the contact, Clarke completed the connection between them, pressing her lips firmly against Bellamy’s once more. Her kiss held heat, but Bellamy responded by slowing down the tempo, making his movements delicate.

It had been so long since Clarke had been held like this, had this kind of connection with someone who cared about her. She appreciated that Bellamy was taking things slower with her, that he wasn’t trying to push her when she was in such a fragile state. It was all the last bit of confirmation Clarke needed that this was about more than just a casual fling to Bellamy. Clarke was different from those other girls he used to mess around with at the dropship. The thought sent a new surge of warmth through her and she melted against him. With a feeling of yearning sweeping in, Clarke slid her arms up his chest and over his shoulders, tangling her fingers in his hair. Bellamy responded by rearranging his arms so that they were wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, his hands in the hair falling down her back.

Kissing him tenderly, Clarke let her hands run through the locks of Bellamy’s hair. The curls were unruly, but they suited his wild, unpredictable nature. Clarke liked that he didn’t bother to comb them. It was just another way that Bellamy never tried to distort the truth, even when it came to appearances. Letting her hands roam freely, Clarke released her fingers from his hair, letting her hands explore the curves of Bellamy’s facial features. Her hands slid down his neck, to the sharp edges of his jaw and upwards, her thumbs running over the slight dip below his cheekbones.

Her movements stopped, however, when she felt the rough texture of his skin where his cuts were scabbing over. Bellamy immediately froze, his lips going limp against hers. Clarke pulled back, just slightly, so she could make eye contact. His head was tilted downwards, his eyes full of pain. Clarke hadn’t wanted to ask earlier, but it was obvious now that this was something she couldn’t avoid.

“Octavia did this to you,” she stated quietly.

It wasn’t a question and Clarke wasn’t looking for an answer. Clarke had seen the bruises on Octavia’s knuckles, witnessed the tension between the Blake siblings. If it hadn’t been already, the way Bellamy flinched away from Octavia when she waved that stick in front of him made it incredibly obvious what, exactly, had happened between the two.

Bellamy said nothing, instead continued to look down with something akin to shame. Clarke’s heart throbbed inside of her. There was so much torment inside of Bellamy, so many wounds that she still could not heal – only Octavia could do that. For someone who managed to stay so strong for everyone else, he was also more broken than the others would ever know.

Carefully, Clarke tilted his head upwards. Leaning her head forward and moving her thumbs so they were out of the way, she planted a kiss softly against a cut on his left cheek. Immediately, he tensed up, but when Clarke touched her lips to another spot just to the right of it, she felt his muscles begin to relax. She continued, pressing kisses to each piece of scarred tissue on his face, trailing them along his left cheek, over the bridge of his nose and onto the next.

Clarke couldn’t heal his wounds, but maybe she could make it so his scars would not be fully tainted with the memory of fists beating against his skin. Maybe, he would think of her and remember that someone cared for him.

When Clarke planted a kiss on Bellamy’s right cheekbone, she felt something wet on her lips. It caused her pause, when she realized what it was: a single tear. Streaming down his cheek. The thought moved her, but she didn’t stop. Not until she had touched every piece of damaged flesh. Finally, she pulled away to look at him. Bellamy’s eyes were glassy, and his cheek was damp where the tear slid down his face. Still holding his face in her hands, Clarke didn’t shift her eye contact.

“I love you.” The overwhelming realization escaped her mouth before she even knew what she was saying. Clarke hadn’t known they were true until they passed her lips and made it to Bellamy’s ears, but now she knew, clear as day, that they were. She loved him. And he needed to know. “Bellamy, I–”

She didn’t have time to finish her sentence before Bellamy had his lips pressed to hers again. But this time, the kiss was different. It was stronger – more desperate. His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer, and the kiss deepened. Clarke felt all the feelings she’d been holding back released all at once. She’d spent so long running away from this – this thing that had been staring her in the face all along.

Throwing her arms around Bellamy’s neck, Clarke struggled closer, but to no avail. Bellamy assisted her by placing his hands on her hips and hoisting her effortlessly onto his lap, so her legs were straddling his hips. This way, their torsos were flush together. Clarke could feel his heartbeat through his shirt, its rhythm matching her own. Clarke melted into the embrace, blissfully overwhelmed with this new revelation that she was in love with him.

Bellamy began to slow down the pace of their kiss again, the moment of heat passing while the emotions still remained. He held her tenderly in his arms and the new sense of calm allowed Clarke a moment to realize how completely exhausted she was. The threat of sleep loomed behind her closed eyelids and Clarke pulled away and sighed against Bellamy’s lips. Not pausing to see his reaction, she nuzzled her face in his neck, still holding onto him. In response, Bellamy adjusted his grip to accommodate for the new position.

“Bellamy?” Clarke breathed, her words a whisper on her lips.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m going to fall asleep.” To illustrate the point, she yawned faintly.

“Okay.”

For a moment, there was nothing, but then Clarke felt herself being shifted. Her back hit mattress as Bellamy laid her down softly. A few seconds later, she felt his own body lying next to hers. He turned her gently over so that she was lying on her side, her back pressing into his chest. One arm was still wrapped around her waist, supporting her. Before Clarke could lose consciousness, she felt the light touch of lips against her skin, right where her shoulder met her neck. It wasn’t meant to be sexy, but it was incredibly intimate all the same. Clarke held her breath as she felt Bellamy’s lips brushing lightly against the skin of her neck and her jaw before stopping beside her ear.

“I love you so much.”

There were no words to convey the rush of affection and love that coursed through her. Hearing these words now, it did not shock her so much that they had been said, but that she believed him and that she would say the same words back over and over again, but never find the right ones to prove to him just how much he meant to her. So Clarke didn’t say anything. Instead, she reached for his hand that was around her waist, entwining his fingers with her. Softly, she guided their hands to rest just over her heart.

For once, Clarke was unafraid of what awaited her in her dreams. Usually, the dread of sleep accompanied her every time the sun dropped in the sky. But tonight was different. With Bellamy there, she was prepared to face anything, because she knew that his arms would be there to ward off the demons when she woke up.

There were much worse ways, Clarke thought, to fall asleep.


End file.
